


The First Law Of Braavos

by Aladayle



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Braavos (A Song of Ice and Fire), Everyone goes to Braavos, Masturbation, Multi, POV Sansa Stark, POV Shae, Protective Sandor Clegane, Sane Viserys Targaryen, Sansa Is Going To Be Okay, Sansa has choices, Sansa is 19 at the beginning, Serious Season 1 Changes, Sex, Sexual Content, Sexual instruction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 03:15:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29325321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aladayle/pseuds/Aladayle
Summary: Robb Stark writes the letter of abandonment declaring Jon Snow to be a Stark and therefore his heir much sooner, rendering Sansa's value in the eyes of her captors much less than before. Tyrion Lannister, taking pity on her, hatches a plan and she escapes to Braavos, along with the cunning, beautiful Shae and the gruff, loyal Sandor Clegane.A fresh start in a land far away is better, she thinks, than staying in a den of deadly lions and a country where she has no worth.Note: Tags are updated a half-day to a day later, so you don't have to worry about spoilers before clicking!
Relationships: Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark
Comments: 10
Kudos: 81





	1. Sansa, Shae

**Author's Note:**

> I've fallen victim to my ailment of 1,000 AUs with GoT too, it seems. Many apologies.
> 
> We'll see where this one goes. Opening is a bit rushed, apologies for that, I simply wanted to wrap up the initial bit in Westeros so we could get to the better part.
> 
> Some things in the timeline are jumbled around to make the idea work. Some OOCness. Rating and violence tags added ahead of time.

### Chapter One

The rocking of the ship did not bother Sansa as much as her dreams did. She feared the silence before sleep, the whispers in her mind reminding her that she was unwanted by her family. That she was not worth even the query of a bargain for. That they would do nothing to save her. She saw Robb, telling her that she was a woman and could not wield a sword so was useless to his war; she saw her mother, saying she had been corrupted by the Lannisters and was not the lady she'd once hoped for. She saw her father, saying she deserved it for being the cause of his death. She saw Robb and Jon both--and Robb looked to her, saying that Jon was a bastard but at least he had never sold them out to the Lannisters. 

The freedom did not yet touch her. It would not, until the ship docked. Not until then would she believe that this was anything more than a trap. 

* * *

The letter was the death of all hope. 

Joffrey had been snatched from her, but that had been almost a relief. The Tyrells had sent many ravens over the past months and due to some finagling by the Lannisters, Lady Margaery had been promised to Joffrey, taking Sansa's place. An enormous dowry, a very nice military alliance, and a name untainted by the traitorous blood of the Starks. 

The news had been circulated that she was to wed Tyrion Lannister by order of his father Lord Tywin Lannister, and swiftly afterwards a raven had come bearing the mark of Robb Stark. It declared Sansa as out of the line of succession as Queen in the North or the future Warden of the North, etc. It also noted that many other ravens had been sent throughout the North and that Lady Sansa would find no welcome there, after her connection with the Lannisters. 

The Spider's little birds confirmed as much--and eventually, through Tyrion, she was told of its contents. 

"It doesn't mean he doesn't love you, my lady," he said, trying to comfort her as best he could. He could see tears in her eyes threatening to fall; he could see her world collapsing further, "He likely felt he had to do this to protect the North from--me." 

She just nodded mutely. 

Speak not unless spoken to became her mantra. She spent her days avoiding Joffrey and Cersei, though at times she would be called to be beaten by Meryn Trant for some perceived slight or the other in regards to her brother's victories. It would not matter, Joffrey kept saying to her. She was nobody now, and who cared if the King had a smallfolk woman shown her place? 

Whatever he demanded, she replied as he wanted. Whatever sins he thought she committed, she confessed to. The pain from the beatings soon ceased to render cries from her at all. But there was one advantage that followed that, at least. Eventually Joffrey grew bored of having "a statue" beaten and she was left to her own devices, absorbed into Tyrion's household. She had begun stitching his tunics for "something to do" and would sit in silence for hours doing either that or embroidery. 

* * *

"She wilts," Shae would said to Tyrion after watching Sansa at this for the third day in a row, "Is there nothing to be done for her?" 

"After that letter her brother sent, nothing--unless I can send her to Essos somehow. Lys, Volantis, Braavos, perhaps," he had replied, listing off the cities and then going on with, "I can't even smuggle her out of the city gates, let alone out the docks." 

"It would be easy." Shae finished her work below his waist, and then look up to his eyes, "But you would need help. Is there anyone you would trust to do so?" 

"Clegane," Tyrion huffed at the idea, saying it jokingly at first. But then he recalled the way Sandor defended the "little bird"...and _then_ he thought of the use of wildfire planned for Stannis's attack. "And you, of course." 

Shae had gone silent at that, silent for a long while. Even when she bounced on his cock later, there would be no words. 

But in the morning, he would have a proposal to make and she would have to agree to it. 

* * *

Sansa had only been informed of the plan one evening when Lord Varys came to visit Tyrion some days later, and she was asked to stay. They gave her instructions, made her repeat them so she would remember, and made her promise to follow them. She obeyed without a second thought. If this plan worked, perhaps there would be somewhere out there she could look forward to the morning in again. If it was a trap--there was very little she could suffer that hadn't already been done to her. Or that hadn't been threatened to her...the way Joffrey still looked at her gave dark hints to that. 

If she was caught, perhaps they would kill her, or one of the soldiers would. If she stayed--she was no use to Stannis, nameless and friendless as she was. They had pounded _that_ into her head very well. She would likely be serving as Lady Shireen's companion, or something of that nature. She had the blood, but it no longer meant anything. Not after the letter. 

Tyrion told her that two people would be leaving with her, and she would see them the night of the battle. She had merely agreed. 

There was no enthusiasm; at least not outwardly. If the plan came to naught, if they were caught, if they were killed... 

* * *

Sansa's eyes opened suddenly, and she realized that the ship had come to a stop. The events of the past weeks stopped playing through her mind, and when the door to the cabin opened she saw the hulking form of Sandor Clegane walk through. 

"We've arrived, little bird," he said. "It's cold out, so put on that warm cloak we brought along." 

"Wh...where are we going to stay?" 

They had money, she knew that much at least. Jewels, too, and they were as good as money. That had been part of the arrangement; a robbery had been staged during the battle. She didn't ask how much had been stolen...but some of her gowns had been packed away in a trunk and wrapped securely around the bulk of them. She had been given a bag of diamonds, which was carefully wrapped into her smallclothes. The Hound had insisted on that--said it wasn't safe for her to carry a jingling bag openly, even in Braavos. 

The shock when she stepped off the ship and onto the stone, with the smell of fish and seawater around, hit her hard, and for a moment she stood trembling in place. Homesickness and anger and sorrow and all the lot of emotions together were wrapped together. She was unwanted, she was free, she was no one, she was anyone. 

But that also meant they had to figure out where to live, where to get food, to... 

"Best inns are down in the Purple Harbor," the Captain, coming up beside the Hound, said, "The Moon Pool has good lodgings as well, but I don't recommend you go there. Men wearing swords are free to be challenged by the more combat inclined Braavosi." 

"Expensive?" 

"Of course. But safer for young women and their husbands who'd prefer other men not touch what's theirs." Directions were given, and the trunk, handily wrapped in a netlike rope, was slung over the Hound's shoulder. 

"Right. Thanks. Let's go, little bird." 

"We should move quickly," came Shae's voice, "Keep your hood up and your head down." 

Sansa only nodded. It was far too soon for excitement, but there was a strange lightening feeling. Joffrey, Cersei, Meryn Trant, they were all far, far away. And whatever followed this, she would i all likelihood never see them again. 

* * *

*Shae* 

Leaving Tyrion had been the hardest thing she had ever had to do. She hadn't wanted to, even knowing what his father had told him about the next whore found in his bed. But then--with a dead look in his eyes--he had told her of his first wife, and said that he would rather have a broken heart than see her abused in such a way. He said he would rather see her free and happy than all but enslaved to a pack of his father's guards. 

He had said it with such earnestness that she could not but savor the bittersweet sense of love that poured out from him. He loved her, this littlest of Lions. He loved her so much that he would part from her to save her. 

And, he said, he would no doubt be forced to marry some other unfortunate maiden, and he would not make her a servant to his wife and display before her what she could never have. He would not have her come second to a woman he cared nothing for. 

The journey on the ship took too long for her liking, and the air of Braavos, however rank, was a welcome change from the stink of sweat and wine and ale from the sailors. She was able to persuade one of the sailors to carry along her trunk until they reached their inn of choice...and then, to a lesser degree than she could see Sansa had felt, the shock of it all settled on her. 

But she was not one to wallow in that feeling of extreme change, she never had been. She always kept moving; she never looked back if she could help it. 

Once they were settled into the room they'd paid for, she sent for a meal to be brought up to the room, and sat facing Sansa. The Hound stood near them, looking as irritated and upset as always. 

"What kind of skills do you have, Sansa?" 

The poor girl! She looked so lost, so completely desolate. But she did manage to respond, in a soft, low tone, "Sewing and embroidering. I...mother said I always had a lovely voice, too, so I...I suppose I could sing." 

"And I," Shae replied, "I have my own talents. We will do well, the three of us." 

"You've got a plan, then, besides hurling pretty jewels at whoever has something we want?" 

"Of course." Shae looked at the Hound, nodding. He was there to be muscle, she thought, and because Tyrion seemed certain that he would get himself killed for his mouth sooner or later. He had frightened Sansa, but it was clear that he had no intention of harming her. She and he had spoken little together; there was nevertheless an understand between them, an agreement on the safety of their young friend. 

Shae, Sandor, and Sansa, with no great house names to aid them any longer. 

Or to hinder.


	2. Shae, Sansa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shae and Sansa discuss plans for the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short bonus chapter. Had planned it longer but I need to be awake in four hours.

### Shae

They paid for a fortnight's stay, which would give them time to figure out their long-term goals, or at least what they would do in the next year. Time to craft a story of who they were, and so forth. 

"We should have saved that sum for necessities," Sandor groused, looking over the fine meal they'd been brought. "We're going to need new clothes so the two of you don't look like ladies." 

"We paid less than you think," Shae said with a wry little smile. "No one gets a fortune from me unless they deserve it. Now, I have a job for you." 

"Not a good idea to just send me out, you know. Suppose that cunt Joffrey sent someone out after us?" 

"We will be safe enough," Shae replied, "No one came for us in the night. We can spare you for a little while." 

"Fine. What do you need done?" 

Shae handed him two of the necklaces they had liberated from the Red Keep. "Go and get yourself some new clothes, maybe some different armor. Sansa and I are fine with what we have for now, but you should find something else. You are the Hound in our hearts, but you cannot keep wearing the suit that they know." 

"Are you a fool? Simply selling the armor would be enough." 

He grumbled, but left--and Shae, shaking her head, turned back to Sansa. 

"You wanted him gone, didn't you? So we could talk." Sansa's voice was soft, but less broken than the night before, and the fright seemed to have gone from her eyes as well. 

"Yes. I thought it might make things easier. There are many things you could do, but I thought you might like to be asked--is there anything you want to do?" 

Sansa seemed to think, but all that crossed her face was confusion. As if she had not thought of such a thing in a long, long time. She had not had the chance in so long, Shae thought, she had stopped considering it. "What _could_ I do?" 

"You have been taught ladylike things all your life," Shae replied, "You could easily become a dressmaker, and make beautiful gowns. We could buy a shop, and live above it. But you are also beautiful yourself, and a woman of age who has bled. We could find you a rich husband--" 

"No," Sansa said suddenly, "I don't want to marry a man I don't even know. I wanted to marry Joffrey, and he turned out to be a monster. If I had to marry right now, I--I'd prefer it be Sandor. He is only mean when he has a reason to be, but--but he would never harm me--either of us. And I don't want to leave either of you. I...you two are all that I have left now. If he said no, I suppose--I suppose we could be...I could...like you..." 

"A whore? You are too pretty to be a whore," Shae replied. Ah, the poor girl, she was desperate for reassurance. Another reason she sent Sandor away; he wasn't capable of giving any. 

"No, I meant...a courtesan. I heard a lot of dirty talk from the sailors, even through my door on the ship. They--men would pay a lot to bed a maiden, and it would let us...it could be enough to get a start as one of them." 

"They would," Shae replied, nodding. "Even in the poorest towns, a man would pay a high price for a woman's maidenhead." 

She remembered still how much her mother had gained for her own. So much money that they had no worry of food for a long time. 

"But why would you want to do that?" 

"The Queen--Cersei," Sansa said, "The night we left, before I slipped away...to my quarters. She told me that the best weapon a woman has is between her legs." 

Tyrion had told her about that. His sister, bedding Jaime and Lancel and probably many others. Others in the Kingsguard, probably; all those men eager to get a shot at the Queen's cunt. She used sex as a draw to get what she wanted, to make men act for her. 

"I have not always done so well as Lord Tyrion," Shae replied, "And the courtesans of Braavos are famous, yes. It could be easy for you, you are young and beautiful and you adapt easily. But you must not run into becoming one so quickly." 

"I..." Sansa paused, looking away. "It's not only to find work. It's...it's...without my maidenhead, if my family wants me back--I won't--I'll be ruined. They won't be able to marry me off." 

"You _want_ to ruin yourself?" 

Shae could not stop her jaw from dropping, but the look of shock remained even when she regained her composure. 

"Lord Tyrion said that my brother was trying to protect the North from him, and from the Lannisters, but...they didn't even care to save me. They didn't even care enough to ask if there was any sort of trade to make for me. I would have known--Cersei, or Joffrey, they'd have told me if someone, anyone, sent a letter like that." 

The tears were glistening in her eyes now, and she seemed to be fighting them back. 

"I don't want them to be able to decide to take me back when there is no danger in doing so. They abandoned me--they wouldn't try to save me, or--or Arya. Why should I go back to a place where they would only use me for their own ends, marry me off to seal some alliance? Why should I let them do that, when they would do nothing for me?" 

The tears began pouring at that, and Shae took Sansa into her arms, letting her cry on her shoulder. 

"Shh...shh...it's alright," she said, "It's alright, I'm here." 

They sat like that for what felt like forever to Shae. But Sansa did eventually sit back up. 

"I have another idea," Shae replied, "If you would be open to it." 

"What?" Sansa hiccupped slightly. 

"We save money, we buy a small barge," Shae said, "Or we buy one now, if we've enough. We still have not sold all of what we brought with us. But we get the barge, regardless, and I become a courtesan. I have been in Braavos before. You sew as well as any tailor I have had gowns from--so you sew my gowns." 

"And--and the H--Sandor?" 

"He is our loyal guard, to stop men from taking liberties they did not pay for," Shae replied, "We may still have to hire servants, and another guard or two. And if you want to lose your maidenhead so badly, you can marry him and have it done the proper way; there is a Sept here. It would make sense to hire a married man and his wife to serve together for different purposes." 

"If--if he agrees to it." 

"I'm certain he will. He does not seem like he wishes to look elsewhere for a wife anyway." 

It may not be the most ideal plan, but it would be better to be on a ship, and be safe from swordsmen or assassins bursting in the door. Or--as safe as one could be, anyway. 

* * *

*Sansa* 

It was not such a bad plan, Shae's idea. If they did not have the money now, they could save it little by little. Shae could charm men, the Hound would be her faithful guard. And she could sew tunics and gowns. In truth she was glad of the alternative; she had seen the way the men yanked at the women in the riot, had learned of what had befallen poor Lollys, and had overheard Theon bragging once about how he took a woman like a beast from behind. She wondered if Sandor would do that to her, but when she shut her eyes she could not picture it. 

She thought about it--becoming a famous courtesan. Hair like fire, and skin like ivory. A Westerosi woman, foreign and beautiful. Ladylike, and desirable. It would not be so bad, to have power over men like that. But then she thought of Cersei, bitter, and with children that were not her husband's, if the rumors were really true. She saw herself like that--bitter, and in her cups all the time, aging and angry that there were younger and more beautiful women around. 

If she married the Hound--well, she would never be the Queen or Lady Paramount she might once have been. She would be a commoner, if a trueborn one. Her...their...children would be well-protected, though. No one would look at them and refuse to keep them safe. No one would decide that they were not worth the effort of protecting. The Hound would not allow it. 

There was a window in their room, and she looked out of it at the city she could see. They said that Braavos was the most free of the free cities. No man, woman, or child was a slave here. It was written on that arch, back in the harbor. 

She was free. Free of Westeros, of the poisonous Lannisters, of the stares of men at court, the leers she would get from the Kingsguard or Joffrey, free from their threats and their plots and their lies. 

"Where do we start?" she asked, after a long pause.


	3. Sandor, Sansa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor sells his armor and gets something to eat. Sansa presents the idea to him, and he gives his own opinion.

*Sandor*

He sold the armor to a Lysene captain, who made mention of refashioning the helm to resemble a bear's head rather than a dog's. He got what he thought was a handsome sum for it, and then immediately headed off to find something to eat. 

That wasn't hard at all; there seemed to be someone selling food every few feet. 

_Guess we'll be eating a lot of fish_ , he thought. That produced an amusing mental image--he thought of himself catching the majority of what they would eat for the day. The Hound, the King's former dog, now a fisherman. Though it was was better than being in the stinking pit of King's Landing, following the orders of the mad boy-king and the fire-hungry Lannisters. He didn't care how desperate the situation was, with that wildfire around who knew what would go up? 

After eating, and getting some measures taken by a tailor--who promised him six shirts and four pairs of trousers within a fortnight. There was one ready set of shirt and trousers that fit him, barely, but it was enough. The price was not too high--so he made inquiries for gowns as well, making mention of a young woman and her servant whom he'd be buying for. He was then given a list of prices per certain lengths of fabrics, bolts, and so forth, and headed out after that. 

Back into the crowd. 

"...oysters! Oysters!" 

"Oh, tall and dark...if you have the money, we've a few girls you might like..." 

The innkeeper had said to pretend to be blind and deaf; it was the best thing to get through the crowd without getting tugged aside. Though he assumed his face was enough to do that already...for some particularly greedy types, it was not so. At every turn there seemed to be someone selling _something_. He stopped one who looked rather young, and asked if it wasn't difficult to get started. 

"I saved enough money to buy a bucket of oysters," the boy said, "If you already have money it's easier. You go get it from someone who just caught a lot of them. Then you just walk around and say you have oysters very loud, and that's how you sell them. It's not hard." 

He let the boy go after that. Not difficult. He supposed it'd be hard for him to get a start that way, given his appearance...it was easier for the young, the unscarred, maybe, but him? He'd do better as a sellsword, but he wasn't sure that he'd want to leave the little bird and Shae alone long enough to do the job. 

"Make way! Make way!" 

He grumbled and turned to see what was going on. The rest of the crowded street pressed back against stalls and walls, and a small troop of helmeted soldiers with spears and shields walked past. 

"...can we not get fish for them?" 

There was a young woman's voice, somewhere, in the midst of the soldiers. Sandor turned away; some noblewoman no doubt. It didn't matter. He'd done what Shae wanted him to do, it was time to get back. Then a second later, a male voice. 

"We already did, my sweet..." 

They were then lost in the crowd, and he was nearly lost on his way back. 

* * *

*Sansa* 

When Sandor returned, he found her and Shae waiting for him, with a spread of food set out. A cooked salmon, large enough to share between the three of them, a bowl of some vegetable he'd never seen before, and cups of ale for each of them. 

"Did you not find clothing?" Shae asked. 

"They had this," Sandor indicated the clothes he was wearing, "S'the only thing they had to fit. I paid them to take measures and they say I'll have more within a fortnight." 

Three pairs of clothes, he'd only had two on the way here. It was better than before, she thought. 

For a little while they sat and ate, and when they were all nursing the last of the ale Shae spoke up. 

"We've tried discussing what we're to do for a living," she said, "My plan is to become a courtesan, it would be an easy way to make sufficient money, without having to separate for large periods of the day." 

"That could also get us in trouble," Sandor replied, "Suppose you get famous? I know damn well if they send anyone after us, and they hear about a famous whore with an ugly man and a lady with red hair, they're going to know it's us." 

"We can't very well go into fishing," Sansa said. "We don't know what we're doing." 

"I know already how to lure men, how to get them to part with their money. It seemed a good plan," Shae said, "I fished a little as a girl, but I have been a whore much longer than I ever fished." 

"You don't have to know how to catch them to sell fish in this city, but we'll be seen just as easily carting around buckets, if we travel about the city getting rid of them." He looked thoughtful, as she had never seen him look before. 

That was true enough. 

"I considered," she said suddenly, "Selling my maidenhead, but--" 

Before she could even finish the sentence, he cut in with, "No. You're not doing that." 

"It could get us a fortune," Sansa said, "But--I decided against it." 

"Good." Sandor took a deep breath. 

"Then I thought...we thought...I might marry you." 

"You don't want to marry me, little bird. You could do much better in this city than a scarred old dog." 

"You're not old, and the scars aren't that bad," Sansa protested. "You aren't planning to marry anyone else, I know you're not." 

He paused, studying her face for a minute. Or maybe he was just staring, she didn't know. And before he could speak up again, she reached over to touch the hand of his that was on the table. 

He didn't pull his hand away. That was a start. 

"My family didn't care enough to send even a single message, or try to save me at all. They were just...going to leave me in King's Landing. Let Joffrey have me...because I'm a woman, and I wasn't worth enough to them." 

"Aye." He sounded almost gentle, and she smiled at him. 

"And if they were fortunate enough to win in battle, I know they would want me back. They would want to use me to seal some alliance or the other. My father said the match with Joffrey would link houses Stark and Baratheon...and...and if Robb manages to win against the Lannisters, I don't want to let them do that. I don't want to be somebody's pawn." 

A pause. He seemed agreeable, in his own way...so it was going better than she'd expected. 

"If I don't have my maidenhead, they won't be able to just walk in, as if they hadn't spent time doing nothing to help me." 

Sandor looked at Shae, who leaned her head back to Sansa. 

"Fine," he said, seeming resigned to it. "But we can't call you Stark, or me Clegane." 

"We can make a new house name," Sansa smiled. "How do you like the sound of Bird?" 

Sansa and Sandor Bird. 

"Got this all figured out, do you? I suppose you've thought of your new house sigil and words, too?" 

"Maybe." 

There was a softness in his face then...and she wondered if he had considered this course of action too. Maybe he had not wanted to frighten her. 

"This is a city where none are slaves. Everyone is free here." Sansa paused, and went on, "If you approve." 

Another pause. 

"Forever free." 

"Buggering hell..." 

She thought for a moment that he was about to get angry, but of all things he could have done, she was surprised by what he did do. 

He laughed. 

Sandor Clegane, whom she had never seen so much as crack a smile, had laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm thinking a white bird on a red field, or a white bird above a burning tower on a grey field. Still haven't decided yet.


	4. Sansa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa and Shae make a couple of wedding purchases, and Sansa is given a lesson to make things easier for her on her wedding night.

* * *

They talked about it for a day or so, discussing colors and banners. Finally, they decided on the sigil. A white bird over yellow flame on a gray field. 

The next day, they all went out together, early. Sansa and Shae were measured for new clothes, and they obtained fabric and thread to make the cloak Sandor would use in the ceremony. 

He did not speak much of the wedding, he said that they, the ladies could handle it all. He would study the words he was meant to say, and do what he was meant to do, and they could quibble about the finery. His thoughts seemed to be elsewhere--while they were being measured and fitted, he was at the door, watching. He always seemed to be watching for something, Sansa thought. 

So far no one had come for them. Perhaps she had simply been forgotten about--the letter had declared her no longer a Stark, after all, or at least disinherited her from his line which was as good as saying she wasn't a Stark anymore. Maybe no one cared enough TO come after her...but at least they would come for the things that had been stolen, wouldn't they? Someone would be angry. 

Someone would come. Eventually. It had not been even seven days yet, there was not time. 

Maybe her family...though that thought made her want to hurry the wedding along. They may try to 'save' her now that she was in Braavos, away from the Lannisters, use her to gain more armies for Robb's case. 

_I must hurry. I must be wedded and bedded--as soon as possible._

After being measured, they set out for the Sept-beyond-the-sea, and made their case to the septons there. 

"We've run from Westeros," she said, "The war has made living there too bloody, and even a port town with many dangers is safer." 

"We wish to be wed, as soon as possible." Sandor was trying to sound polite--but even then, his voice sounded slightly angry. But the septons did not seem upset in any way. They merely asked a few questions, and the date was arranged. Three days from now, she and Sandor would be married. 

"A bride's pie," Sansa begged once they left the sept, "Could we not have one made? I know we cannot have it be very large, but--" 

"Of course, little bird." He almost looked like he was smiling--but when she looked again, that momentary joy seemed to be gone. Maybe she had imagined it. 

"A trip to the baker's, then." 

It was the first joy she had felt herself in a long time. It was a hurry, something to rush, but it was something _she_ was being allowed to decide, and it enlivened her. Whatever happened afterward, she was making this decision, taking this course, herself. And though she knew they must conserve their jewels, their gold and silver, she wanted still to have a pie. A nice pie, and a cake...a dinner, that she would be able to enjoy before their true work began. 

Shae lead the way, what felt like a mile or two--and Sansa was getting tired by the time they stopped at a bakers. It was not too far from the inn they were staying at, at least. 

"We want a bride's pie for a wedding in three days," Sansa said, "And perhaps--a small plate of lemon cakes?" 

"We've no lemons right now. Shipments have been slow, and they go fast when we do get them." the baker said, shaking his head, "Would you take honeyfingers instead? I learned the recipe from a Tyroshi sailor, and they never fail to please the tongue." 

"What are those?" 

He handed over a single small one, and she nibbled at it. It was crunchy, and sweet, and had some sort of nut crushed and sprinkled on top. She liked them instantly. 

"Yes. Yes, of course," she said, "But you do have lemon cakes, normally?" 

"When I can get lemons, yes." 

It did not cost much to have a dozen ordered and for it to be arranged to be picked up the day of the wedding. She chatted with the baker idly, praising his work, and the three of them were on the way out when they nearly collided with a blonde man. 

Blonde, though--Sansa corrected herself the instant she thought it. His hair was more than blonde, something like the sun in one's eyes when it reflected off the snow. Her heart was not touched, but he was beautiful, too, despite the scars on his face. Or maybe even because of them. He looked almost grim, tired; there was darkness under his eyes, as if he and sleep hardly ever met. But despite the way he looked, he smiled nicely and begged her pardon for getting in her way. 

(Sandor, Shae would tell her afterwards, had looked a bit grouchy at this. But she would laugh and say he was always grouchy) 

"Ah, it is you. Come in, come in. A profitable day it is when you cross the threshold!" the baker called out on sight of him. 

That was when they left. The blonde man passed from her thoughts when Shae whispered something in her ear about the fine gown she had had stowed away, and then her thoughts were on the wedding again. 

* * *

That night, Shae instructed Sandor to have a bath. 

When he left, she sat Sansa down on the bed, and bid her to draw up the hem of her gown. 

"Why?" 

"I know you are frightened of the marriage bed," Shae said, taking her hand. "So I thought that I might do what I could to relieve that fear. There are ways to make it hurt less, and even feel pleasure from it. Do you think it was the little lion's gold alone that drew me?" 

"It can feel good? I thought--I thought only men--" 

"Oh, no," Shae gave a laugh then, "Women can feel pleasure in this way too! If you would let me, I will show you--though we will be careful not to go too far. I know you wish to give that gift to our Hound." 

Sansa pulled up the hem of her gown somewhat nervously. She knew this would not hurt--or at least hoped it wouldn't--but she was curious to know how pleasure could come with a woman. Then, at Shae's gentle urging, she removed the smallclothes beneath as well. 

"Now," Shae said, reaching gently out, and touching a point between Sansa's legs that made her jump a little. "Do you feel that? Put your hand there." 

"Y-yes," Sansa stammered a little, and did as she was asked. 

"It may take us a little time, but you must rub there. I would use my tongue--that would do it faster--but this is to show you how to command your own pleasure." 

Sansa obeyed. At first, she felt only a strange twinge, but after several minutes the area she was touching began to warm. 

"How do you feel?" Shae asked suddenly. 

"A...a little hot." She rubbed a little too far down, and drew her hand up quickly. "I--I haven't made water, have I?" 

What her fingers had drawn up was a little sticky, and she looked at the substance, confused. 

"No. No, that's your body's response to pleasure. It is so that when you put something in your woman's place, it will not hurt." 

"Like...like a man's..." 

"Or your own fingers." 

Sansa colored at the thought. She felt so unworldly, so innocent, but Shae didn't seem eager to tease her for it. Instead, she went on with her instruction. 

"You can do this before he puts his cock in you, to make it easier for him to put it in you," Shae said, "But you can get pleasure on your own doing this as well." 

"What--what is it like? Pleasure?" 

"Keep going, and you will find out. If you wish to slide your fingers down together you can." 

She felt so awkward, doing it in front of Shae like that--but the feeling passed away quickly enough. Shae had been a whore, she had likely seen this done many times before. It was nothing new to her, and if something was being done wrong she'd say so. 

The heat increased, as did the dampness. 

"Aahh..." the sound escaped, and she colored again. "I'm sorry, I...I couldn't help it." 

"That's normal. You should be making that sound...it is a sound of pleasure. And it will make our Hound happy, if you make noise when he is in you. A man likes to know that he is pleasing his lady." 

He would like it? Yes. Yes, he did not want to hurt her. If she was making that noise when he was in her... (but what noise would HE make?) 

She continued; more such sounds passed her lips as the heat grew. A tenseness was stealing over her as well, a strange but wonderful sensation she had never felt before. "S...Shae, I...I..." 

"Let it take you." 

So she did. 

She stroked, and her fingers grew damper still, until the tenseness came to a head, crested-- 

"Oh!" 

A wanton moan tore from Sansa's lips as the feeling burst over her body--she was wracked with a sudden tremor, and fell back, her woman's place convulsing and squeezing. At what she did not know. But she liked this feeling, liked it a lot...it felt so warm, and wonderful, and there was a sudden bliss singing through her veins. 

"Was that... _pleasure_?" 

"Yes," Shae smiled, and wet a rag in the basin by the bed, then took Sansa's hand and cleaned it. "Did you like it?" 

Sansa nodded. "I feel...I feel so good, so warm...' 

She sat up, somewhat shakily. 

"Should I do this before--before Sandor--?" 

"A little," Shae advised, "He will no doubt find great pleasure in seeing you do it, even if he tells you he does not. But if you want to please him, you should let him do this to you...with his cock." 

It would not be the first time that night that wonderful feeling would strike her. But they did not stay on that in the immediate moment. 

Shae produced from a box under the bed--a wooden cock. 

"Don't worry, it's not going into you," she said, "I just want to show you how to handle--him. Take it in your hands, and imagine it is his cock you are holding." 

It looked so thick, and she wondered if Sandor would look the same. 

Over the next half-hour she was shown how to stroke it, how to move her woman's place against it without yet letting it go in, and even, most scandalous of all, how to take it into her mouth without grazing it with her teeth. This deed, she was told, was not necessary. But if she felt comfortable and safe enough to do it, the feeling of her mouth and tongue would give great pleasure to him if she wished to take his cock some way other than between her legs. Or if she did not want it, but still wanted to give her husband pleasure. 

By the time Sandor returned from his bath, Sansa was feeling a lot less nervous about the marriage bed. When he took his place across the room to sleep, she could not help but smile. She was glad Shae had shown her how to touch a man. If she could please him, he would be able to spend his seed inside her, and--then, that was how he would give her children. She did want them, after all. 

When his snores issued forth, and Shae passed into slumber as well--Sansa, curious, slipped a hand between her legs to see if she could manage to reach that wonderful heat again.


	5. Daenerys, Viserys, Sansa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys' life takes a different turn, with Viserys of a different mind. Sansa is married.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I like happier starts AND endings. We'll be playing catch-up with Daenerys for the next few chapters, probably.
> 
> Dany is also aged up, for obvious reasons.

* * *

*Daenerys, Past*

She still remembered the way it all started. 

"The mighty Khal Drogo has an offer to make." 

They had been living in Pentos. For once, they had stayed, not moving, though Viserys had not told her why. Somehow he had managed to get them a house, and when she asked for the red door, he had made that happen too. 

He would come back in the evenings, with food and money, and sometimes with bruises on his face. She thought maybe that he was doing guards' work, but he denied it when she asked. 

(He wouldn't tell her what he really was doing. And when she asked one time too many and saw him flinch, when she would hug him from behind and he would jump, she stopped asking. And she knew something was wrong.) 

Somehow, the Dothraki had heard of them. How, she did not know, but what she did know of them was not good. They were nomads, and ran about killing and looting and raping. They were so fearsome, that cities would give them gold and goods to leave. And if luck was with them, the Dothraki would take it and leave. That was how things were done--you gift them something, and they gift you something back. Like trade, but different. 

It was a rich man named Illyrio who told them of Khal Drogo, and how he had heard of the last Targaryens. 

"Whole fortunes would be paid to bed the last Targaryens," he said, "And that is why Khal Drogo has come." 

Viserys looked at her, and she saw him do it out of the corner of her eye. She wandered over to admire something, listening all the same. 

"I did not think the horse lords were interested in bedding men." 

Viserys sounded so tired when he said it. Hurt. She wondered--no, that could not be it. 

"'Tis not you he wants. He says he has a gift to give that will not fail to persuade you. He says you will gladly gift him your sister's maidenhead in exchange." 

"Why does he not simply buy her as a bride?" 

"I am of the idea," Illyrio said, "That he meant not to do so because he was warned not to. They would not say why to me through the translator, but I heard them discussing in Dothraki that their wise women warned Khal Drogo against it, in the interest of his life." 

The idea of living with the horse lords was awful. There were rumors about them, that a Khal would share his bride with his closest friends, that he would take her from behind like a beast... 

Did Viserys think the khal meant to bed him as well? Was that why he sounded so tired, so sad? Had that sort of thing been how he had provided for them all this time? She felt a sudden sting of shame--he had sold himself like a whore, maybe, and he had done it to keep them fed. 

"What will he pay?" she said suddenly. 

"Dany, no--" Viserys started, and when she met his eyes she saw them full of pain. 

"I can bear his...attention...once, brother. If it is just the once. Then--if he will pay so much, perhaps our lives will be easier. We could have more time together." 

Viserys tried to persuade her against it again, though she saw his resolve crumbling. So many things passed through his eyes then, even as he must have seen the resolve in hers. 

"What is the gift the khal is so sure will persuade us?" 

* * *

It was a princely gift, indeed, and she had not even seen inside the chest. 

"The Khal offers you fifty Unsullied," said the translator, a dark-skinned woman, "They are the best slave soldiers in the world, and will obey any order without question, even if you should order them to slay themselves. This one is also included, as well as three slave women to tend the needs of your house and sister. Khal Drogo also presents this chest, which he assures you is worth more than all the rest." 

Unsullied...Illyrio had some slaves of that kind, and they scared her. They stood like statues until given an order, and when that happened they would obey immediately before returning to stand in place. 

Both she and Viserys stepped forward. Two of the Unsullied carried the chest forward, and opened it. 

It was filled with gold, but they hardly noticed the gold for the two objects nestled inside it. One black and one green. 

"Dragon eggs," Daenerys breathed, moving closer, "But how--" 

"This one does not know. But many cities give gifts to the Dothraki, and in return the Dothraki do not sack those cities. Perhaps that is how the Khal obtained them." 

"We will do it," she said quickly, laying hands on the black one, and then the green. "Does--does the Khal ask anything more?" 

"He asks that if his seed takes root and you should be delivered of a son," the dark woman said, "That you would deliver the child to him." 

The thought stung at her, but given all that they were being handed, it seemed a fair trade. 

* * *

There was no son. 

The khal took her, took her hard, but seemed to want to hear her cry out in pleasure as well--for he touched her in ways she did not know a body could be touched. And when he was done he looked at her, stroking her face and touching her hair, as if he was not sure she was real. 

Maybe it would not have been so bad, to be his wife. But in the morning he left--and they were left with the gifts he had given them. 

Things began to change drastically, after that. 

The first thing Viserys did was to have the Unsullied loaned out to various persons in need of guards--rather than sell them outright. This, he said, would give them more money over time, rather than selling them immediately and getting money only the once. The Unsullied would remain theirs, of course. And of course with soldiers, they would need a larger home... 

"Perhaps if we make enough," Daenerys said, when Viserys spoke to her of this plan, "We could buy more, and more, and go back to Westeros with an enormous army. We could take back the Seven Kingdoms." 

"We--will not be going back to Westeros," Viserys replied. Sharply, more so than she expected him to. 

"I thought you wanted to. Are they not waiting for us?" 

* * *

*Viserys, Past* 

"No." His face crumpled, and he sat down, holding her close and stroking her hair, "No, my sweet sister, they are not. That was a lie. A lie I told myself because--I thought surely, they must want us back." 

She held him back. He seemed to need it. 

"The smallfolk do not care for who is on the throne, and the lords themselves fight one another for it at every opportunity. No help was sent for us, no aid of any kind. Even our allies deserted us. They want the throne for themselves and dropped us the moment things grew dark." 

He remembered hearing a rumor of Dorne...but that, too, had fizzled out. There was no communication from them whatsoever, no attempts to reach out, promises of aid...nothing. 

To the Seven Hells with them all. He was tired, so deadly, deadly tired from all that he had had to do to keep them alive. And the idea of fighting further exhausted him, just thinking of it. _I have spent too long fighting to survive to want to do it constantly, even if I were to be crowned._

"Why should we grace Westeros with our presence when they would do nothing for us?" he questioned. "They would look at me, and say I was like our father, the Mad King. I would be forced to marry you off, to gain allies--we could spend every copper, and still come no closer to the throne." 

They would need much more than what they had, and it was a fight he was not sure he could win. 

Daenerys moved a bit closer. "I don't want to marry someone else." 

She told him how just being in Drogo's bed was bad enough, though he had tried to make her feel pleasure too. Viserys--he was the only one she felt safe with, and besides, they were Targaryens. He had always said that they married brother to sister, and she had expected it would be so with them, as well. 

"What do you want?" 

"I want to be free," she said, "I want to be happy." 

"Then you shall be free and happy." 

Daenerys was all he had left, and the light in her eyes kept that of his own from being snuffed out. To look into her eyes and see a smile, see happiness--it made his life more than it was. 

* * *

It was good to have servants again, and the dark woman (from Naath, he later heard) was a good companion for Daenerys. She was quite learned in various languages, and he had her begin teaching them to not only her, but the Unsullied as well. 

Let the Usurper and his dogs burn the Seven Kingdoms to the ground if they liked. He could carve out his own kingdom here in Essos, even if it were only as a lord of sorts, rather than a prince. Perhaps blaze a trail of some sort...be the leader his father never had been. A merchant prince, perhaps... 

Things were looking better, _finally_ better. The day he gave Daenerys his last gown, the day he did not have to wear it and look the part of a woman to get enough money to keep them fed, was the day the strain began to truly lift from his shoulders. 

It was a warm day in Pentos, and Viserys Targaryen dreamed in the sun. 

* * *

*Sansa, Now* 

The gown was one she had been given after the betrothal to Tyrion, ivory samite, and beautiful as one could wish a wedding gown to be. The Hound--no, she corrected herself, Sandor--was dressed in the new armor he had bought. It was not full plate like the other, but he looked like a proper knight. And he was wearing the cloak, the one he would put on her shoulders. 

He was not the knight of her dreams, but he had helped to save her, and she was happy. 

He looked handsome. The scars did not scare her as they had before, and now--well, she wondered why they had ever frightened her at all. They were like hers, only more visible. They showed that he had survived something that might have killed him, but didn't. They showed that he was strong. And he was to be hers, and they would be strong together. 

They went to the Sept-beyond-the-sea, and found that aside from the septons, there were a few people in attendance. 

"We apologize for the unexpected visitors," one septon said, greeting them at the door, "But the Westerosi in Braavos do not see many weddings in the Faith of the Seven, and asked to attend." 

"I don't mind," Sansa gave a little smile. Sandor was allowed to go on, while she stood near the top of the stairs with Shae. 

No going back. 

She felt a momentary sting, a longing for her family. They should be here, in some way. But no--if they were here, they would never have allowed her to marry Sandor. They would have taken her away, made her marry someone for Robb's benefit. They would lecture her about helping the family's standing, barter her away to get an army. She was nothing to them but a pawn to be used. 

This, Sandor, was _her_ choice. 

Shae moved off to join the Westerosi who had gathered, and one of the younger septons moved to her side. 

"I am not your father," he said, "But your husband to be can hardly walk you if he is already waiting there for you." 

She nodded, not minding the septon's gesture. If only her father could be here--perhaps he would be angry, perhaps he would not. (Brave, gentle, and strong, he promised. Could he have known it would be Sandor? What would he have said?) 

The septon walked her down, and took the spot in front of them. 

Sansa looked up at Sandor, giving a nervous smile. He didn't give her one back, but he wasn't scowling, so she took it for one. As the septon started the prayers all she could think of was the future. She could feel it, this was a new start for them both, a _real_ start that would give them both chances they didn't have before. 

Sandor was not the golden prince she had hoped to marry. He was _better_. 

He was a true knight, he just wasn't a knight. 

The prayers concluded. The septon looked at the two of them first, and then at Sandor alone. 

"You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection." 

Sandor took off the cloak, and carefully put it around her shoulders. She was trembling slight, but she gave him a smile. He looked serious here--was he expecting her to run out? No. No, he had to know she would not do that. 

Now they had to join hands. The septon brought out a ribbon, and as he tied it into a knot over their joined hands, he said, "Let it be known that Sandor of House Bird and Sansa are one heart, one flesh, one soul. Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder." 

She wondered how that curse would go, when her family heard of this. She knew they would at some point. By the time they could make any attempts, however, she would either have given Sandor a child or be close to doing so. She would not let them tear her away from freedom so easily. She was choosing Sandor, and she would not have her choice ripped from her. 

There was a pause, and then, "In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity." 

Then the septon pulled on the end of the ribbon, unraveling it.

"Look upon each other and say the words." 

They turned. Sansa's heart was flying as they both said, "Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger..." 

She added shortly afterwards, with Sandor saying a slightly different version, "I am his, and he is mine. From this day until the end of my days." 

Sandor's voice, for his part afterwards, seemed to be trying to be gruff. But she knew better. "With this kiss, I pledge my love." 

He kissed her--a short kiss, but the tingle it gave Sansa was altogether new. She loved the feeling of it. 

There were cheers from those who had come, and Sansa gave her new husband another smile. 

* * *

They stopped by the bakery, and retrieved the bride's pie and honeyfingers before returning to the inn they had been staying in. Shae sat and ate with them, and when Sansa gave her a nervous look, sent a little smile back. 

Shae promised to be back before nightfall, and then left Sansa alone with Sandor. 

"Let's...let's..." Sansa's voice trembled, as did her hands. "Have you bedded many women?" 

"A few," he replied, "Whores, once or twice each." 

Sandor's voice was almost gentle. Maybe he knew that despite wanting to do this, she was still scared. 

"Help me out of my gown, please." Sansa made certain the door to their room was closed and locked, and then turned to move towards the bed. 

Sandor did as she asked, unlacing her gown. It dropped to the floor, leaving her in the thin shift that had been beneath it. As she let it fall too, he was disrobing behind her. 

_I am about to become a woman_ , Sansa thought, _I hope it doesn't hurt too much._

She turned around nervously, not exactly sure what she would see. Sandor was big and bulky, and his...it...between his legs looked long and thick. Bigger than the wooden cock Shae had shown her how to use. 

It wasn't going in yet. Shae had told her that too. He couldn't do anything with it if it was just hanging there. 

"Kiss me," she said softly. She'd start there, get her courage up. 

He did. It was a strange kiss, scratchy because of his beard, and slow. He would pull back a little, then press his lips to hers again, and after the third or fourth kiss he put his arms around her, letting his hands drift south to the bare curves of her hips. 

Sansa shivered. His hands felt rough, but...still, there was a sudden feeling of warmth. 

"Touch me more," she said. It felt good, the way he'd stroked over her hips. 

Then one of those hands moved from her hip, up to one of her breasts. He squeezed at it, roughly at first but then more gently--and kept kissing her as he did it. The warm feeling grew, and spread as his other hand moved up to give her other breast the same treatment. 

Then he stopped, suddenly. 

"Do you want me to touch you there?" Sandor asked (nervously? No, he couldn't be). He put one hand between her legs, and let his fingers brush her woman's place 

"Yes." 

One touch felt good, and she realized she was damp. Her body was preparing her to take Sandor's cock, so it wouldn't hurt her. But as he circled that area, and probed at her entrance with two fingers she felt a sudden jolt of pleasure she didn't expect. 

Oh, that had felt wonderful...she'd done that herself, several times, but somehow to have him do it felt even better. 

One or two minutes more. Sansa was so enjoying his touch, but then she felt something prodding just above her stomach, something hot and damp at the tip. She realized it was his cock. 

It looked even bigger now, and she couldn't stop her eyes from widening. 

"Now," she said quickly, "Now, we need to..." 

She took hold of it with one hand--Sandor flinched, but stayed where he was when she started to stroke. 

"Sansa..." 

It was easy, so easy. A cock, a real one, felt so strange but all the tricks she had been shown, she used--and if they had not had to go further she would have tried to take it into her mouth. 

"I was just getting you ready," she said. A deep breath. Then, she climbed onto the bed and lay on her bed, bringing up her knees. "Now...now, we should..." 

"You're sure?" 

"I'm sure," Sansa nodded. "Go on and...and..." 

Her voice shook still, despite her willingness. She tried to steady herself, to push back this slight panic. Why did she feel it so? She wanted him to do this! Maybe it was simply fear of the unknown. She had never done this before. 

Sandor moved up and parted her legs, moving forward just slightly, enough to press the tip of his cock against her entrance. 

"I'm going to make this quick, little bird. It may hurt," he said, "But you knew that, didn't you?" 

Sansa only nodded. She knew. 

He pressed a little more inside. 

_No going back, now_ , she thought. When Sandor snapped his hips forward, pushing past her maidenhead and filling her utterly she gasped. Never had she felt so stretched, so invaded, so full. She reached up, eager for something to hold on to. 

It must have surprised him. He practically fell down onto her, and when he tried to push himself back upright she kept her arms wrapped around him. Flesh to flesh, she thought. It felt so warm, so good. 

"Now," she said, giving a little smile against his neck, "As my husband, you should want to please me, should you not?" 

Teasing. Another trick. Men liked it, Shae said, it showed them you wanted and liked what they were doing. If he was being slow about it, it could spur them on. 

"Then let me go." 

She laughed, and did so. Sandor steadied himself, hands moving down on either side of her head. And now--now, he began to move his hips. Slowly at first, and with those slow thrusts came little bursts of pleasure. But then he began to move inside her more quickly and more deeply, and it was one of those thrusts that a moan was forced from her lips. 

"There, Sandor," she moaned, "Please, do that again..." 

Fast, hard, deep. Her breasts bounced from the impact again and again, and the desire rose higher and higher. 

She looked up, meeting his eyes, squeezing his sides with her knees. This was new to her, so new, but she was already enjoying it. And the best was yet to come. 

"Please," she begged again. 

Faster, just as she'd asked. Sandor's hips crashed against hers, over and over, and the wet sounds of their joining became louder as he took her. 

The warm feeling had shifted, to one of tenseness in her lower gut. There was a sudden strange desire for _more_ , and she moaned, "Sandor..." 

_Give him his name. All men like that_. She remembered that, and as Sandor's cock continued to invade her, over and over, she kept doing it. He moved faster, and she felt herself being pushed--higher, higher, and higher still. 

"Sandor...oh... _oh_..." 

It crashed into her, hard, and the pleasure sparked, spreading like wildfire after the first crash. Waves of pleasure hit her, and she stiffened, breathing hard, and reveled in the flood of warmth that followed. 

He kept going, but much more slowly. 

Then, he spoke. He sounded strained, and grunted around the words. 

"...I'm going to--" 

Sansa squeezed her knees about his sides again. "You are my husband. Inside." 

Then she reached up, smiling, to touch his face, suddenly wondering how she had ever found him ugly. 

"I want you to." 

Another few thrusts was all he made it to. He sheathed himself in her and gave off a groan--and then she felt it inside, a sudden feeling of _something_. Strange and wet, it was, but she couldn't feel disgusted by it, not with the lingering heat. Sandor shuddered as it happened, and she reached up to pull him back down again. She wanted to hold him, and be held by him. 

She was as one with him here, like this, and it felt so right. 

He did finally withdraw, and she turned them, so she could curl up against him. Her woman's placed still seemed to throb hotly, and she felt the stickness of her husband's seed between her legs. Spent and tired she was, but she had never felt this sense of pleasure and goodness from it. 

"Now," he said, "It looks like you're to be stuck with me." 

"Just don't forget, I chose you." she said, "Does that count for anything?" 

"Aye, little bird." There was a pause, and a large arm came around her side, pulling her closer. Almost tightly. "It does."


End file.
